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The Ravensbrook Awakening


Chapter One ~ Once Upon A Wary Day


I live on what had been a block of houses and bungalows off a side road, leading to a Mere, golf-course and farmland to the left and, a small village to the right; then the main road,

Now though, the Ravensbrook had two roads running parallel, into a large sprawling estate of mostly tree-lined streets and cul-de-sac: such is Ravensbrook Estate.

The bungalow where I live is also where I’d had for many years, until moving away for ten years or so, to Live a Life and more.

And then I’d returned, thanks to the good graces of my folks, who’d come to my aid, yet again.

All-in-all, Life has been good, ‘cept for the spell I had inna psychie-unit, after my parents death. And for quite a while, I had teetered, on the edge somewhat. Yet, things are better Now.

And, I can’t help but smile a little, as I look out the living-rooms picture window, to a blue-sky and a green lawn; a tidy front border, in front of a small wall and, to the right a low privet hedge, dividing my property from next-door. Well, that and, a dividing wall, of course.

I watch a young mother in tight, light-blue jeans, pushing a buggy toward the school, further down the road. Watching her; and sometimes, just sometimes, I wish there were more. Yet, I’ve got more than most and, particularly in these dire times.

And that car, that big white SUV with darkened windows has been parked on the other side of the road, just to the left, at the end of our drive, for over twenty minutes.

The window on the driver’s side wound down and I watched the driver use his mobile, then drink juice and, have a cigarette while he read the paper.

Going through to the kitchen and the back door, I clean the stainless-steel pedal bin, keeping my eyes looking right occasionally, as I stare through the wrought iron gates and up the drive, to where the car sits, parked in exactly the same place.

And, it’s been nearly forty minutes now I notice, briefly looking to the kitchen clock, as I wash my hands, prior to making myself a much-needed coffee.

I haven’t been sleeping well of late; ‘just way too much on my mind,’ I consider a few minutes later, sitting on the bench seat opposite the kitchen door, sipping at the hot brew, glancing between the cacti and spider plant and out of the window.

Still there, I notice.

Then the fellow, with full cheeks and cropped hair and, wearing a suit, seems to glance my way while his face stares straight ahead, a moment, just a moment.

And I hold my cup, knuckles tightening as I do so.

The smoked-glass window descends slowly, as I watch intently, then the car drives away and, turning away from the window, I make my way back to the electric kettle to make myself yet another coffee. I feel the need stay awake, now.

I can’t help but think about what I had noticed, curious as to whether I’m being paranoid, or not…


Chapter Two ~ A stranger only till met


Time passed, or Tempus Fugit as an acquaintance of mine is wont to say. And, I’m pretty sure that manic depression isn’t my problem; that is ‘who are the occupants in the big white SUV, with the smoked glass windows?’

I mean, other than spotting that vehicle at least four times in the last two weeks, things have been pretty humdrum of late.

Although I did go out to the flix in the ‘Pool, last Friday. I had even ended my night with a whiskey, as I’d wound my way slowly back to the station to go home.

Yet it was on the way to the ‘Pool that things got had strange. After disembarking from my train I’d left the Wirral Line, then the undergrounds exit and taken the white-tiled tunnel to the left, leading to the escalator and, up to the main Liverpool Lime Street Station.

A woman strode toward me, of above average height for a woman, in cowboy boots and, faded blue-jeans and a suede coat, running long, slender fingers through dark brown, almost black curly hair, that reached to her shoulders.

And, on her approach to the station I’d just left, our eyes met, with a distinct spark of something between us: gawd knows what it was, but it’d been there, of that I’m sure.

Then, she’d been gone.

And me?

I’d been halfway up the escalator when I’d realized I should’ve got off at Central, or better still, got off at James Street, for Liverpool One.

And, when I left the flix, after watching a particularly good film by Luc Bresson, I’d idled back through the city centre, ignoring the passers-by, the hen parties and the straggling reveller split from the party and the occasional fellow, seeking anywhere from forty to eighty pence, ‘for the train fare hair mate’.

I’d been intent on find a hostelry of my own liking and, taking a turn at the old Lewis’s store, I’d made my way to The Liffey which hadn’t been too busy, that night.

I’d opened the double doors and walked in, thinking of that scene, in almost every western I’d ever seen, where the main protagonist walks into the bar in a similar manner.

And I do like the décor of The Liffey, all dark wood, ‘cept for a little brass on the bar itself.

I’d taken the step up from the ground level to bar level then approached the bar itself.

It had been as I’d done so that a double-whiskey had mysteriously appeared on the bar, much to the bemusement of the two people either side of where it sat waiting.

Eyeing the barman I had mouthed ‘thank you’, then offered the correct money, plus a twenty pence tip, on my flat hand, on the end of my right outstretched arm.

The fellow had smiled and, taking the coins from me said, “Thanks mate” as I’d downed my whiskey all-in-one.

Smiling I had turned and walked back to the bars entrance, relishing the warmth that spread through my gut.

Two fellows worked the bar, both of them knowing my ways; one was a big friendly looking fellow with short black hair and twinkling eyes. The other fellow was small and wiry, with a perpetual grin and, often stood by the door with a smoke in his hand, as he talked to regular punters.

That fellow seemed to work just when the place was busy, so I’m figuring he was the manager, or maybe the owner.

Either way, when one of those two was working, I’d not have to wait long for a double of the ‘water of Life.’

Come the street and a quickly whirling head thanks to alcohol on an empty stomach, I’d found myself meandering back to Central Station, my eyes darting back and forth, alert as ever, to any potential threat.

And still, the woman I’d passed earlier rattled around in my head, as I stood on the escalator, going down to the platform. Then, as I’d got there I had noticed the display telling me that the West Kirby train was due, in a minute or two.

‘Being scathing?’ I’d mused with a grin, at my own lack of appreciation of a British Rail minute.

The train had pulled into the station, the doors had opened; then from amongst those who stepped forward from those waiting, was the woman I’d seen earlier.

My mouth had opened: I’d wanted to say… something. Yet I’d stood there mute, as she got onto the train. And, moments before the doors had closed, the woman had turned her head, to look at me, as she smiled.

Then the train doors had closed and, it sped away, leaving me surprised, as I just couldn’t get my head around the fact that she’d smiled… as if… she knew me.


Chapter Three ~ Voices from the Past and Present


Come Saturday, cabin fever had set in by noon. So I got my black leather cap, glasses that go dark in the daylight and a light jacket in blue, to match the heavy button day trousers, I wore with the hem turned up. Over black boots, with a moderate heel.

My jacket had been a waist length zip-up, with a nylon out and a soft lined inner; and as usual, I had the zip way down, to reveal a fairly hirsute chest. And looking back, I guess it’s all based on a style of dress I chose at sixteen. Like many, I’d just wanted to be different. And, I always did feel… different.

Yet I digress. I’d stood at the living-room window, staring at a rare blue-sky day and the mundane nature of Life, as a young woman pushed a pram toward the school down the way toward the school, as The Beatles song ‘Please Please Me…’ filled my empty home and, I sighed.

‘Yep, definitely time to go out…’ I’d muttered, walking into the kitchen and turning the radio off. Then I’d closed all the windows and, on the way out I locked up.

‘Yes,’ I’d mused looking down the drive and the wrought iron gates my Father had put up years ago: the padlock was in place; “All secure.”

No matter how many times I locked up my home, prior to going out, I always went through the same routine and, often double and treble checked my actions, always unsure that I’d done as I needed.

Then I had taken a left at the end of the drive and walked to the end of the road where I’d paused a moment, trying to decide, ‘which way to go?’

I’d smiled at my own question, finding irony in it.

Turning to the left would take down the tree-lined lanes toward Raven Mere down the way, with a golf course opposite the road leading down to it; and, to the right, the shops and the road leading the station and The Village and, a country park I hadn’t visited for almost ten years or so.

‘Well, there you go…’ I’d muttered, as I’d begun to walk.

I’d walked up the hill, passed the station, then continued up the road and the two blocks of shops, then onward up the road, enjoying the fresh air and the sky of blue and, even the sound of the brown leaves crunching underfoot.

Then I’d walked across The Common, where there had been a quarry, over a hundred years previous, that’d been filled in, with green grass and trees there Now.

The oasis of green had been nectar for my senses and I walked with a slow easy pace, as I walked a worn path, through a line of trees toward the other side of The Common and back onto the pavement, just before a busstop..

I’d walked through the village, passing by the shoppers, crossing the road with the old Saxon Cross at its centre; passed bank on the corner, the launderette and tools shop, with the other do-it-yourself store across the way, to my far right.

Then continuing down the hill and houses built sometime in the late forties, and down, toward the damn and, the country park.

The park had immediately brought back a myriad of memories from my youth, being out with my Mother as I’d held her hand, looking up to her gentle eyes, as they seemed to twinkle with delight, as she took pleasure in the moment.

How I’d missed that, these last past years.

I’d taken a path I recalled across a large field, the pond that the fishermen had cleaned out a few years previous behind some trees to my left.

The trees ahead held a path that would lead down to my memories given form in green and, as I walked through the dense woodland I’d listened to the quiet.

And I had just stood there, a few yards from the green bench-seat, the one with the sign in brass saying that it was dedicated to Mrs Silverstone; the bench-seat near the stepped path leading down to the vale below, where the stream meandered, crossing marshland, filled with rushes on one side and, parkland on the other side.

All had been quiet and still, ‘cept for the sound of a barking dog, somewhere on the other side of the bulrushes and trees over the way.

I had closed my eyes, for a moment, then seconds later opened them, wondering why there was something wet on my top lip.

Using the back of my left hand, I’d wiped across my face, noticing with curiosity the smear of blood there.

It hadn’t been a just a little blood though. It had been quite profuse and it had been accompanied by a blinding headache; and within minutes I was positively freaking.

I’d sat on the bench-seat, holding my head moaning, eyes closed.

And that’s when I’d heard the voice, a woman’s voice, which calmed me. The feelings I’d felt, just then, were of my Mother and those times Past, good times.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be alright…” The gentle voice had assured me… again and again and, I’d felt her hand on my shoulder.

‘My Mother?’ I’d mused for all of a second, then I recalled, ‘she was gone’

Yet, I felt calmer, with the touch of another and, just by hearing their words, which continued. Then, as the bloods flow ceased and the headache slowly passed, I’d looked up and turned round, to see who’d been so helpful.

The voice had ceased and, I couldn’t recall when and, there’d been nobody there, when I’d looked. I’d been sitting on the green bench-seat, all alone.

That’s when I’d looked wildly around, ‘First paranoia and, now voices?’ My only thought at that moment had been, ‘Am I going mad?’


Chapter Four ~ Eyes open, Mouth Shut


I’d stood up and away from the long green bench-seat after long moments had passed. Feeling extremely fatigued I’d wavered back and forth on my heels. I’d felt quite drained and, ready for bed; yet, taking a few stumbling paces forward, I reached the steps that had been created as a nature trail through the trees, leading down to the base of the vale.

And, although I’d stumbled a few times, my eventual exit from the woodland, then a few bushes, had been without much incident. Then once out I’d found myself on one of several stretches of grassland intersected by a pathway falling to my knees, my hands on my thighs and, I’d sighed long and hard, staring across the nettles and brambles at the side of the stream, to the bulrushes ahead.

Again blood had fallen from my nose, drip-by-drip, onto the back of my left hand.

From my left a figure walked into view, as they walked the path that overlooked the stream and the bulrushes. And, as exhaustion coursed through every limb, I’d noticed the figure stop and turn toward me.

Then as my chin found the silver Ankh, resting round my neck and my eyes closed, there was a distinct awareness inside my head of a presence nearing me, someone who meant me no harm.

“Are you alright?” A voice asked, soft woman’s voice asked me; and, I recalled the voice, from earlier.

I had tried to lift my chin, so I could respond directly. But, to no avail.

“Calm down Keiren… Calm down…” I heard.

Nose still bleeding, I’d felt like saying, ‘How’d you know my name?’

But, the blinding pain that tore through my skull seemed to prevent any speech.

Then I’d felt her place a hand on my right shoulder, as she continued talking to me, “Just focus on my voice Keiren… and breathe in slowly, so slowly… and, allow your heartbeat to slow…” I’d liked her voice.

Her voice had a soft Irish lilt, that warmed.

As she told me to ‘calm down’ again and again, I'd found that I did.

And slowly, very slowly, I lifted my head to an upright position. Then I opened my eyes, equally slowly, surprised to see the woman from the subway days earlier.

It was the same woman running long, slender fingers through dark brown, almost black curly hair, that reached to her shoulders. And, she was dressed for a country walk, a camera draped round her neck by a strap.

“The bleeding has stopped…” She said: “How’d you feel?”

“A little better…thanks…” I’d responded, suddenly realising that her lips hadn’t moved, as she had spoken.

With twinkling green brown eyes, dimples at the corner of her smile and, that hand gently squeezing my shoulder, she told me, “Yes, you did hear me Keiren…”

Staring at her, my mouth open, I tried to ask, “How do you know…?”

“You’re nearly twenty-one and, you’re awakening…”

This time her lips moved; yet the voice was the same: that same soft Irish lilt, that calmed me so, with its warmth.

‘Awakening?’ I mused, filled with a desire to ask more. Yet, that’s when I’d fallen forward as the blackness took my mind.


Chapter Five ~ Emergence


The Blackness had taken me, held me and, just for the first time in ever-so-long, the pain of my memories and the loss I associated with them mattered little.

There was no fear or regret and, I’d felt truly at peace, for awhile…

Then as my mind became accustomed to the comfort of nothingness and found peace within the void, I sensed something else with me, something darker than the surrounding darkness and, I became quite fearful.

It was then that I began to hear a multitude of voices, subverted by one voice, which possessed a fine Irish lilt.

“Come to me Keiren,” she instructed, as bright light formed ahead of me.

Then a hand, at the end of a long naked arm, came out of the light, long slender fingers outstretched.

“Reach for my heartbeat Keiren. Feel it. Match yours to mine and, come to me…” she called out to me and, I did as she had coached.

It was surprising how easy I found it, to find her breath, then her heartbeat; and finally reach for her hand.

As my fingers curled round those of the woman, her gentle voice filled the void and was followed by the bright light from which she emerged, quite naked, quite lovely...

“My name is Laurell,” she told me, taking my hand, drawing me toward her and out of the darkness…


Chapter Six ~ Memory Lives On.


We’re on the Northern Line and, as the train pulls out of the station I look to the faces of the men who get on; men of a certain age, with hair receding like mine and, a build that is similar to mine and, a ring upon their marriage finger.

Then, just ahead and across the aisle one sits, who fits the description; although he wears a suit of tweed I’d never wear. And, I can’t help but frown, as he stares quite openly at me.

He notices and smiles.

So I turn and look our the window, as countryside takes over from the cityscape and, looking into the glass, I see the fellows reflected image, as his eyes of blue-green, like mine, glare at me quite intently. I squirm a little.

My bladder needs releasing, so I think, as he stands and slowly walks toward me, his hands holding each seat back, as he passes, to hold still his gait, as the train suddenly lurches to the left, then right.

His gaze is fixed upon me and his mouth turns into a malevolent sneer as he gets ever near and, there are few paces left for him to walk: then I balk and sweating profusely, I’m filled with a desire to shout… I am suddenly awake.


Chapter Seven ~ Safe Is A Relative Term.


Sitting up a little too quickly, I bang my head on a low shelf of books and lay down again quickly, feeling very confused; and more so, realising that beneath the duvet,
I was naked.

Before me, long dark wavy-hair frames a lovely smiling face, that I recognised from the top of the escalator at Liverpool Lime Street Station.

“My name is Laurell,” she explained, taking my hands and, helping me to sit. And, as I did so looked around, rubbing my head.

“If I ask where I am, will I regret it?” I queried, as she stood back from the cot bed, built onto the side of curved planks of wood.

“I don’t know,” Laurell replied with a smile and a flick of her fingers in her hair; “Why don’t you try it and see?”

She wore a shirt, a blue shirt, which reached mid-thigh. And, once again the eternal question was asked, this time by me: ‘Why do women look so good in a man’s shirt?’ And, realising I was staring at her thighs, I look all around and realise that I am on a barge, a well-appointed one, to judge from all that is around me.

“You’re safe,” she assured me, which I’m afraid wasn’t good enough.

I hadn't felt assured by that, so persisted.

“Dependant on context,” I began with a smile, “Safe is relative.”

She had grinned at this, nodded and, then sat on the end of the small bed.

“You’re with me Keiren, at my home. And, by your definition… the one important to you… You are safe.”

“Really?” I queried, accepting her smile, with as much good grace as I could muster.

“Yes. When you reached out, we had touched. You felt that. The knowledge, the awareness, the emotion, it was all too much for you though. So knowing there are others who may be looking for you, before you….” She waved her right hand in the air, then continued, “I brought you here….”

At that moment, a motorboat passed by and the barge rolled obscenely for a moment.

“Yep,” I muttered, “Definitely a relative term….”

Laurell had grinned at me, before standing again. She made her way across the galley to the stove, turning to look at me as I stared at the backs of her legs and, she asked, “Coffee, or tea?”

Dry-mouthed, I responded, “Whatever’s easiest.”

And, I’ll swear she told me ‘not me’, yet I heard no words.

“Coffee…” I added.

“So, tell me Kieren…” Laurell started, as she made our drinks, “do you dream of your Father often?” And, though it’d been a question, it seemed obvious to me that she already knew the answer.


Chapter Seven ~ Knowing Me, Knowing You


She had to be kidding? ‘Do you dream of your Father often?’ I’m adopted and, I had good parents, who gave me a good childhood. Hell, my Mum walked in, saw my blue-eyes, as I’d reached up to her She had even given e a green book, ‘The Chosen Baby’, telling me, that’s what I’d been.

‘Did I dream of my Father?’ I missed my parents. But, the sperm donor. He had four kids of his own and, had been a married Catholic, while my Birth Mother had loved him and, had two of us to him. Then, he’d dumped her, or something like that.

I felt sorrowful, even thinking of it all. And, seemingly my sadness was mirrored in Laurells face. That was strangeness in itself, I’d thought.

Certainly, I had thought of him, whenever I’d travel on the Northern Line, knowing full well that if the stories had been right, he had travelled on that line.

But, I’d thought all of it way back when; when I’d been living in a mid-terraced house in Kirkdale, with my Fiancée, before she’d left to be with my best-friend and, as I’d recall her, I’m sure I can see my sadness reflected in my hosts face.

“Your Mother loved you though, didn’t she?” She asked, albeit as before, it was almost as though she knew the answer, before she’d spoken.

Yes, she had loved me. She had loved me so much that a new home had been found for me, with loving parents. I’d met her, when I’d been nineteen. She'd shown me a photograph of her with a fellow looking like me, who wasn't. Well, I'd had to meet him and eventually had. That’d been weird, as he’d looked so like me. Hell, he’d even shared the same sense of humour and taste in women as me. And, I’d liked her.

Laurel had smiled then, as if at my memory and, I’ll concede, I found it disconcerting.

Smiling warmly, Laurell leant forward and offered my coffee, to me; “While you drink that, I’ll go get dressed…”

“Not on my account!” I blurted out, then blushed all over.
Hands on hips, so that her skirt rode up a little, Laurell exhaled deeply and frowned.

I felt mortified. ‘Had she taken offence, a gate, a hedge?”

Suddenly, she grinned.

“What is it they say? ‘There’s nothing better than to look at first thing in the morning than a woman in a long blue shirt that just about covers her buttocks?’”

I blushed further still and, she laughed.

Laurell either guessed very well, or everything she had said thus far was accurate?

The latter was difficult to fathom though…

She looked at me a moment, her face quite serious, then turning a three hundred and sixty degrees, Laurell twirled, a wide smile on her face: “I’m afraid mine is a little too long…”

‘A little too long?’ I thought wryly.
“Nah,” I answered, “It looks… great… to me…” I said, slowly.

“Yes. I can see that!” Laurell pronounced, a look of mischievous delight playing on her face, as she looked at me.

And, quickly realising where Laurell was staring at, she knew I found her arousing; she could see evidence of that from where I was tenting the duvet.


Chapter Eight ~ shirt, hair and legs

.
Laurell walked passed me, the long slender fingers of her right hand lingering for a moment, on the bulge I’d made in the duvet.

Dumbfounded by her brazen move, I’d trembled a little. This wasn’t a girl, Laurell was a woman; and truth be told, I felt quite intimidated by her…

“There are things I could teach you,” she’d teased, a light smile playing on her lips; “But there’s other things you have to learn first…”

I’d gulped with a dry mouth, as Laurell left me with my coffee, while she went to get dressed. Attractive as she was, I found the woman distinctly intimidating.

Seconds later, Laurell reappeared, all legs, shirt, beautiful hair and, full lips, that she used to kiss me on the forehead.

Standing back, Laurell twirled again and, I got a flash of her white pants.

“See!” She said with a grin, “I’m not that scary, am I?”

“Erm… Erm…” I’d replied, still aware that an attractive woman had just kissed me; irrespective of the fact that she’d just evidenced the connection she’d spoken of.

And, as Laurell left to finally get dressed, I’d sipped at my coffee, totally bemused. After all, she had just read my mind, or so it had seemed…


Chapter Nine ~ there’s a sigh in it


“So, hows that!?!” Laurell asked brightly And, I craned my head round, to look at her. And boy did-she-look good….

She still wore her hair down, but it seemed fuller somehow, the way she’d pinned it up on the right side, to drape over her left shoulder, leaving the right side of her swan-like neck bare

She had dressed in elasticated type skin-tight jeans, as tight as a second-skin; beize ankle boots, over matching socks; and an angora wool long-sleeve jumper with a cowl-neck of pink and grey horizontal bands that reached mid-point her very flat stomach, to show-off her belly button, an inney. The insert looked to have a red ruby inset. And, as that’s my gaze lingered, I had to ask, “Is that real?”

With hands on her hips, Laurell laughed, “The belly button, the stomach, or the jewel? Now be specific…”

Continuing to stare, I’d looked for an answer, yet it was Laurel who found it first and, after laughing uproariously, she told me, between panting for air, “It’s almost too easy, to read you, when you’re emotional…”

Turning my face back to the bottom of the cot-bed I blushed, from my face to my neck, to my exposed upper body.

And, the tent I’d made in the bedding was still there.

Yet, all the while I heard her laughing, I heard Laurell’s voice, in my head. She’d said, “Aw, how cute he is, I’ll bet he’s still a virgin…”

She was right. But, Laurell hadn’t used her mouth, to say as she had… Yet, I’d heard her… Then, suddenly she was at my side, sitting next to me, holding my shaking right hand between her cool, steady hands, her voice calming me, with that soft Irish lilt: “Finally, you’re getting it…”

‘Gettit!?!’ I screamed, inside my head, through the pain of embarrassment, my frustration, at my lack of awareness, of surrounds and self; and my loneliness, my unending loneliness: I screamed, long and loud, inside my head, to shut it all out.

Laurell responded by squeezing my hand and saying to me ‘Shush, shush… be calm. Calm down Keiren. Seriously, calm down… Or, you’ll break something, literally.”

She had spoken to me with her lips moving, I noticed that. And, I kept watching her lips, as she continued to say, “Shush Keiren… Calm, down. Listen to my voice and, feel that connection we had earlier. Feel your heartbeat. Feel mine…

Then without her lips moving, she told me, “Make our connection as one. You can.”
And, I did. I felt my heart slow, then felt hers and, suddenly I could feel Her, inside my mind, with me. And, that union calmed my mind.

“It seems I was right…” she said, after long moments of blissful silence, “You’re capable of understanding, who and what you are…”
I’ll concede that Laurell knew more than me; yet, for me the curious thing was why was she so-interested in me and, who I am.

She grinned, still holding my hand: “Your Father was the son of one of the greatest of us. And like you, he never knew his Father; and like you… he had powerful Psionic abilities…”

Stupefied, I found myself squeezing her hand. Oh, not with my hand, with… something. I needed… I needed… something… And, I saw blood trickle from Laurell’s nose, as she winced… And then, she pushed back….

I fell into the mattress and down shattering the beds slats beneath. Then, I’d released her hand, as I fell through the splintered wood, to end up a tangle of limbs, looking up at Laurell.

“Are you alright?” She asked, looking down, into the hole in the middle of the bed, where I lay panting.

“Yes,” I told her quietly, feeling very, very stupid…


Chapter Ten ~ Chu… Chu… Changes…


Up till just that very moment I’d not cared a jot about the so-an-so who sired me.
‘He’s a married Catholic with four kids of his own…’ I’d been told.

Now it seems, that was only half the story, if it were ‘the story’, at all. Up till hearing what Laurell had to say about him and I’d not cared a jot.

Laurell stood back and laughed.

Watching me struggle from amidst the middle of the bed and shattered wood, Laurell stood back and laughed.

“It’s not that funny!” I told her, glowering at the amused woman.

“Well,” She said to me, after a moment or two’s consideration, “If you knew what you are capable of, I think even you would find it funny…’

“What can I do?” I queried, stepping out of the bed-frame carefully.

“Well, when you were tested at seventeen your abilities were deemed as a potentially latent skill, to be realised, then honed; if and only, they manifest.”

‘Huh?’ The only time I recalled having any kind of assessment at that age was at college. My Dad had wanted me to ‘get into sports’, as he didn’t appreciate me ‘sitting in all the time drawing’, as he had phrased it.

So I’d ended up going to the Heswall Boys Club, where I’d taken part in fencing, which had been run by, of all the people, the Head of the catering department of the college, where I’m been doing my catering course.

I recall being left in the office, while he attended to something, or other; turning a report round and, seeing a really stupidly high potential IQ figure there. I’d turned the paper back round, then on his return; I’d said my goodbye, then made my way to the nearest toilet block.

I’d been disappointed in the system. If I were so bright, had so much potential, then why had it never been realised? So I’d entered a cubicle and unwrapped my knives on the floor before me. Staring at the handles of the many different sized knives, I’d taken the largest, the French knife and looking at my inner left wrist, I’d drawn my knife across. Seeing my blood run and flow, I’d fainted.

But, I’m still here. Was that just happenchance? Either way, as the fellow had said I’d ‘great potential’ and, until now, that had meant little to me. But now, looking back at what he’d said, I had to think on it all somewhat,

And after long moments, the look of concentration that had crossed Laurell’s face ceased. “He was right Keiren, you do have great potential…’

She’d read my mind??

“Yes I did…” Laurel said to me, reaching for the back of my right hand and holding it gently, as she answered my unasked question.

“And I’ll be able to do that?” I quizzed, frowning.

Laurel smiled, then I heard her musical lilt in my head, as she responded, “This… and oh so-much-more…”

I wanted to know more about these newly discovered abilities; but now I needed to know about my Birth Father.


Chapter Eleven ~ Ready, or Not


“So what can you tell me of my Birth Father…?” I asked after due deliberation. After all, ‘did I want to know?’ It was a damn fine question.

“He was adopted, by the couple he was left with, before his parents were killed…” Laurell told Keiren, conscious of his emotional condition .He was in a state of flux as his mind showed her; and so she had to be careful, with what she told him and how she said it.

‘Killed?’ I mused. There were more questions than answers. Yet, there was one thing that needed answering: “What was his name?”

Smiling gently and squeezing my hands, Laurel said to me, “It was David Kellum…” Then she continued, “And, your Aunts name is Julie, Julie Vale.”

I was stunned, ‘an Aunt? Well, of course… why not?’

“She was as powerful as he was and, if they’d got their way, there’d be peace, between the humans and Us…” She added.

“Hang on,” I interjected, “What did you mean by Us…?”

And, without using her mouth, Laurell illustrated further, just what she meant.

‘People like Us,’ Her soft Irish lilt inside my head: ‘People like you and me Keiren. Many call Us Scanners…”

And, I groaned, the mother of all headaches sweeping through my skull, as Laurell continued her explanation, “Scanners were, or are, individuals born to Mothers who took a drug called Ephemerol, during the late nineteen forties and early nineteen fifties. The drug was intended to ease childbirth, but it had totally unexpected side-effects. The children were born with abilities that the normals don’t have, hence their fear of us…”

“Fear?” I quizzed, through the pain.

“Yes, fear Keiren. Look I’m sorry that hurt so, she told him, “but you had to know this is all real, alright?”

“Uh huh,” I responded, nodding.

Again she squeezed my hands, in reassurance.

Then, she continued: ‘He was ready.’

“Pretty well anything humans are scared of, they try to destroy…” Yet, instead of hearing Laurell’s rhetoric, Keiren was still intrigued by the term ‘Scanners’.

And, Laurell smiled, “A scanner? Well… you know when I listen in, or put thoughts in another’s head, that’s scanning. If I were to bring you a drink…” And so saying, she directed her gaze from him to a rack of mugs; one moved across the small galley, to hover beneath the cold tap, which turned itself on and, water filled the mug, which floated across to Keiren, as the tap turned again and, the water ceased running.

I let go of Laurell’s right hand and took the floating mug, looking at in complete bemusement….

“And, I can do that?” I said softly.

Again Laurel smiled at her me, watching me cautiously sip the water: “You’re the Grandson of Cameron Vale. You can do that and, so much more…”


Chapter Twelve ~ Here I Come


Laurell spoke slowly, as I placed the mug down and sought out her hands again, with mine: “Cameron defeated Revok, the first of us; whose grand plan had been to flood the country with Ephemerol and build a new generation of Scanners, under his control. But, his defeat had come at a cost; the loss of all he was, bar one thing…”

‘Go on?’ I prompted impatiently.

And, Laurell smiled a little, at my sudden use of telepathy.

‘His mind…’ Her voice, that soft lilting musical voice told me.

And, she smiled.

“Okay, Okay… What happened to my Father then?” I asked; I had to.

“Ah… they disappeared. Both he and Julie…”

And, that was it: she could tell me no more…

Laurel squeezed my hands and I felt good. For the first time, in such a long, long time, I felt good.

“So, how did you find me?”

She smiled.

“Since seventeen… Our little group of listeners….” And again there it was; the smile.

“Well, we’ve known of you since you were seventeen…” “The test that Roughton had put me on?” I recall losing it with him one time with him; ‘lunge, parry, lunge’…

We had been in all the gear, masks and swords, with red training tips and, dancing the moves as he encouraged me, loudly. I hadn’t like that. And, my anger had broiled inside, deep inside. It had been released in a burst of energy, and…. the tip of my foil had broken off, as the blade had bowed on impact with his padded jacket; there’d been that much charged emotion behind my moves and, that final thrust.

“Yes, that test. Some of the results had been of particular relevance, to Us…”

She touched my cheek, with delicate fingertips.

“And, with your… pedigree, as it were…” Laurell grinned, “We had been waiting to see whether you realized that… potential.”

‘That’s quite a time to be following someone…’ I mused.

“Not so long Keiren… not so long…” Laurel nodded, as she stood.

She had read me and, there’d bee no nose-bleed, or head ache and; it’d felt, ‘Right.’

“C’mon, lets go up top, with a drink, eh?” I’m sure you could do with the fresh air…”

She was right, fresh air sounded good.

“Whiskey, isn’t it?” Laurell asked me, picking up a bottle of Teachers and two whiskey glasses.

“Heck,” I began, “I don’t know why you asked. My mind; nay, my whole Life, is an open book to you lotk…”

“Aw now, don’t be like that,” she reproached, “It’s mostly been for your own good…”

“And the bit that wasn’t?” I asked. I just had to.

“The way we saw it, you may have ended up like your grandfather, or if we were very unlucky, his brother…”

She rose from her stool and I followed.

I’d followed her anywhere.

She lead me to the short vertical ladder, leading up top and, again I follow, watching her shapely derriere, clad in elasticated type skin-tight jeans, tight as a second-skin.

She looked good, real good.

“Should I say ‘thank you,’” Laurell asked, looking over her right should, mirth in her voice. And, I know I blush. I know I blush… as I climb after her, making an effort not to think thoughts that she’ll find too amusing.

Up top, she lead me to the right side of the barge, which was painted beautifully.

And yes, there is a bucket, painted in dominant blue and white, with delicate flowers on stems, coming from a green watering-can, painted on the side.

The barge was… lovely… her home, was lovely.

We sat and she poured our drinks, which I hold, as she replaces the bottles cap.
And placing the bottle down, she takes her glass and we smile at one another, before clinking them together.

‘Cheers’, we think, as One. And, we smile.

For a long moment, silence reigned.

Looking around I finally noted my surroundings. She has moored the barge with open fields either side of us. There was no-one in sight, not on the canal tow-path, or in the fields… well, bar the odd bird or two… and, I see a kite, or kestrel wheeling in the air; and, there is a fine warming sun against my face.
.
“You’re lucky…” She said to me, out-of-the blue, after sipping at her drink awhile.

“Huh?” I quizzed. Not feeling very lucky; bruised yes; but, not lucky.

And she laughed. Laurell laughed.

“You can be funny.”

“You’re scanning me again…” I snapped.

“It’s not hard Keiren… you’re feeling emotional. So I feel your thoughts just flow…”

“Oh…” I retorted. What else was there to say?

I drained the contents of my glass.

“Don’t be like that,” she admonished, “I am trying to help…”

“Yeah, I know,” I answered, dully.

She crouched down, to my right and sliding her left arm over my shoulders, Laurel drew me to her.

And, as I rested my head, she stroked my hair, “Believe it, or not, you can make it alright…”

“Me?” I whispered, looking down, to her lap.

Suddenly I heard the voice inside my head; filling me with beautiful warmth that radiated inside me; and for a very brief moment that soft Irish lilt was all I heard, or knew.

Yet, it wasn’t Laurel; or, it wasn’t just Laurel that spoke inside my head, ‘Yes you… Keiren Foster… You’re One, but you will be many, when the time is needed.’

I saw Laurell staring wistfully into the far distance, her face quite serene. Then turning to me, I heard her say inside my mind, ‘You are lucky,’ again.

‘Why?’ I asked, communicating in the same fashion. And, she smiled, at my ease of use of telepathy, one of the talents of a scanner, I’d learnt.

‘You’re third generation Scanner Keiren,’ she told me, ‘and, you had nothing of the voices that drove some demented…’

And, she must have seen the images that flowed from her remark, as I recalled that first breakdown at college, then the other two, the latter of which had led to me ending up in hospital, with little awareness of who or where I was.

Placing a her left hand over my right hand, her gentle smile warming, she told me, ‘Yes, I know you had some difficulties my friend…. But, it could have been worse, far worse. Some had their minds torn apart, from birth, as they suffered sensory overload…’ And, squeezing my hand a moment, she told me once more, ‘You have been lucky, that your own awakening has been as it has…’

I can’t say that I saw it as she did, but that said, if individuals with my abilities had suffered as she’d shown me, with imagery thrust into my mind, of people writhing in pain, clutching at their heads, before one exploded, literally; then maybe I was lucky.

“It seems that you’re found some understanding my friend,” She said to me softly, as a gentle breeze blew and the water rippled beneath my dangling feet. And, I really did like hearing her saying ‘my friend’. That’d sounded good to me, particularly from someone who knew so much more than me, someone I felt such a rapport with.

She stood and, offering me her right hand, Laurel said to me, “Come with me…”
And, I don’t ask ‘where?’ It really doesn’t matter.